Free Death Before Bedtime by Gore Vidal

Talisman City immediately afterwards: “Got that damned legislature on my hands,” he boomed. “Don’t know what they’ll do next.” He looked about him to make sure that no members of the deceased’s family were near by; then he asked: “How did your session with the Defense Department go?”
    Pomeroy shrugged. “I was at the Pentagon most of the day … I’m afraid the only thing they wanted to talk about was the … accident.”
    “A tragical happening, tragical,” declared the Governor, shaking his head like some vast moth-eaten buffalo.
    Pomeroy sighed: “It doesn’t do my product much good,” he said. “Not of course that I’m not very sad about this, for Mrs. Rhodes’ sake, but after all, I’ve got a factory back home which has got to get some business or else.”
    “How well I know, Roger,” said the Governor with a bit more emphasis than the situation seemed to call for. I wondered if there was any business connection between the two. “We don’t want to swell the ranks of the unemployed, do we?”
    “Especially not if I happen to be one of the unemployed,” said Roger Pomeroy dryly.
    “I always felt,” said his wife who had been standing close to the Governor, listening, “that Lee’s attitude was terribly unreasonable. He should’ve done
everything
in his power to help us.”
    “What do you mean?” asked the Governor.
    Pomeroy spoke first, quickly, before his wife could elaborate. “Lee didn’t push the 5-X as vigorously as I thought he should, that’s all … that was one of the reasons I came to Washington on this trip … poor Lee.”
    “Poor Lee,” repeated Mrs. Pomeroy, with real sincerity.
    “A great statesman has fallen,” said the Governor, obviously rehearsing his funeral oration. “Like some great oak he leaves an empty place against the sky in our hearts.”
    Overwhelmed by the majesty of this image, I missed Pomeroy’s eulogy; the next remark I heard woke me up, though. “Have you seen the will yet?” asked Mrs. Pomeroy, blowing her nose emotionally.
    The Governor nodded gravely. “Indeed I have, Camilla. I drew it up for Lee.”
    “I wonder …” she began, but then she was interrupted by the appearance of Lieutenant Winters who joined us at the fireplace, bowed to the Governor and then, politely butfirmly, led Mr. Pomeroy into the dining room. Interviews, I gathered, had been going on for some time. The Governor detached himself from Camilla Pomeroy and joined Miss Pruitt on the couch and, considering the “tragical” nature of the occasion, both were quite boisterous, talking politics eagerly.
    My own interview with the Lieutenant took place right after he had finished with Pomeroy. I sat down beside him in the dining room; the table was brilliantly set for dinner, massive Georgian silver gleaming in the dim light. Through the pantry door I could hear the servants bustling about. The usual plain-clothes man was on hand, taking notes. He sat behind Winters.
    It took me several minutes to work my way past the Lieutenant’s official manner; when I finally did, I found him troubled. “It won’t come out right,” he said plaintively. “There just isn’t any evidence of any kind.”
    “Outside of the explosive.”
    “Which doesn’t mean a thing since anybody in this house, except possibly you, could have got to it.”
    “Then you don’t think Pomeroy was responsible?”
    Winters played with a fork thoughtfully. “Yes, I think he probably was but there’s no evidence. He had no motive … or rather he had no more motive than several others.”
    “Like who?”
    A direct question was a mistake I could see; he shook his head, “Can’t tell you.”
    “I’m beginning to find out anyway,” I said. I made a guess: “Rufus Hollister,” and I paused significantly.
    “What do you know about him?” Winters was inscrutable; yet I had a feeling that I was on the right track.
    “It seems awfully suspicious his wanting to get into